


Second Act

by StormDancer



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Reconciliation, Teacher Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 05:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6182662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormDancer/pseuds/StormDancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis could have looked the other way, could easily have not spotted him out of the crowd of teachers and students and parents, but Louis saw him. He supposes it makes sense. It might have been eight years, but he’ll still always know when Zayn’s walking these hallways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Act

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I go to my sister's talent show and get bored and write something in the hour after I get home. Enjoy!

The hallway is crowded with students and their parents and the few other staff members either here for moral support or to help out, and still, Louis sees him. He could have looked the other way, could easily have not spotted him out of the crowd, but Louis saw him. He supposes it makes sense. It might have been eight years, but he’ll still always know when Zayn’s walking these hallways.

So of course he does the logical thing, and ducks down the stairs towards the stage. It’s not hiding, he rationalizes. It’s his job. To wrangle the kids for the talent show. It’s what he’s here to do.

“Safaa.” He grabs her arms, as she rushes by. She pauses, gives him one of the condescending looks that only a teenager can give. She’s never respected him properly, probably a result of having grown up with Louis regularly getting scolded in her presence for helping Zayn get into trouble. “You didn’t tell me your brother was coming.”

“Um, no?” He’s almost proud of the scoff she gives him. “He wanted to see me perform.”

“Oh, right. Go get ready.” He lets go of her arm, and she scampers away. Of course Zayn would want to come to see his sister perform. Of course he would. He was always at his best, with his sisters.

Louis just…hadn’t expected him. He’d basically gotten over the weirdness, of working in a place where he’d once been a student, but now that Zayn’s here, it feels different. The last time they’d both been in these halls had been graduation, Louis stealing Liam’s hat to throw into the air, Zayn latched onto his back laughing into his ear, like he was on top of the world. The last time they’d been at this show together, it had been the five of them, performing their boyband thing for the last time, as it was everyone but Harry’s last year. Louis barely remembers the performance—Teenaged Dirtbag, he thinks—but he remembers after so clearly. Remembers how Zayn had thrown himself at Louis, glowing with pride and high off of applause, how he’d have tackled Louis to the ground if Louis hadn’t managed to catch him. How he’d held on tight to Louis and just looked at him, and for a second, Louis had imagined—but then he’d leaned in and pressed a sloppy kiss to Louis’s cheek, and hugged him tight, and that had been enough.

And then, Louis reminds himself, a few months later, Louis had come back from a quick post-graduation vacation with his family to find Zayn gone. A university program, his mom had explained, something they only offered to special students. Louis had never denied Zayn was special. What he was pissed about was that he’d had to find out by barging into Zayn’s house to hunt him down and discovering him gone for good, their last summer together dismissed like it was nothing, without even a text.

Yeah. That’s what he has to remember, Louis reminds himself, and goes to find the MCs so the show can start somewhat on time.

He doesn’t look for Zayn, during the first half of the show. He stays backstage, where he should be, because there are something like fifty teenagers back here and there is something wrong with all of them and all of them are having a crisis. Louis soothes, boosts, and yells at whoever needs it. This might not be where he expected his life was going to be at twenty-seven, but he’s going to do it well. And distract himself from the man in the audience who was once his best friend.

At intermission, he ducks upstairs, out to the back of the auditorium. It’s hot backstage, and he needs some air. Most of the parents and the kids will be in the front, so he assumes he’s safe—except then of fucking course there’s a slim, straight figure leaning against the wall where he would very much like to lean. Of course Zayn would be here. This is where they always went.

“You’re not allowed to smoke out here,” Louis snaps.

Zayn turns to him. Louis really wishes he was ugly now, gone bald or gotten a horrible face tattoo, but no, Zayn Malik at twenty-six is just as devastatingly beautiful as he had been at eighteen. His body is more filled out and his hair is longer but he still looks like a dream, in dark jeans and a black t-shirt that look like a fashion statement. It’s annoying, is what it is. Louis’s sweaty and frazzled from running after teenagers all day and into the evening, and Zayn looks like a bloody model. It’s not fair. And probably Zayn’s fault.

“I’m not smoking.” Zayn raises both his hands, and sure enough, there are no cigarettes between his fingers. “Quit a few years ago. Were you coming out for a smoke?”

“No,” Louis retorts. If he were clever, he’d go inside, avoid this. But Louis’s never been clever. Zayn was the clever one. “Clearly. As you’re not allowed to smoke out here.”

Zayn snorts. “Like that ever stopped us.”

Louis doesn’t want to think about that. About sneaking away for a smoke, giggling like they were such fucking rebels even though everyone knew Zayn was going to get into a good school and succeed and maybe Louis would manage to get in somewhere as well. But that hadn’t mattered to them, when they’d trade a cigarette back and forth behind the school and Louis would try not to think about his lips touching where Zayn’s had.

“Yeah, well, I’m a teacher now. I’ve got to set a good example.”

“I heard. Congratulations.” He sounds like he means it too. If Louis weren’t at school, if he weren’t supposed to be an adult here, he’d scream. Or punch Zayn. Or both.

As it is, he’ll just settle for hurting Zayn. That’ll be another memory for this place to carry forward, of Zayn hurting as much as Louis had that summer day, staring at Zayn’s bare room and trying to compute that he had gone.

“Oh, you heard?” he demands. “So you hear things from your fancy ivory tower?”

“Lou.”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Louis hisses. “Not when you just barely deigned to come back to town for a day from your fancy grad school.”

“Am I intruding on your turf?” Zayn drawls, but Louis can see him shift, straighten. Readying himself for a fight. Once, they’d always been on the same side. Once, Louis’d love to see Zayn’s posture change like that, would have been grinning the grin that Harry had once told him made him look like hunting cat, ready to back Zayn’s play. Now, Louis gears up too. This is better than running away. “Excuse me for wanting to see my sister sing.”

“You don’t get to use my nickname.”

“Fine. Louis.” Zayn draws out each syllable of his name. “Louis William Tomlinson. I heard you’d come home to teach drama.”

“You heard the rest?” Louis demands. It’s easier this way. If he attacks, he won’t have to see the pity that always comes when everyone says it. The pity, and the resignation, like they always expected it. “About how I got a girl pregnant and had to move home to take care of my son?”

Zayn’s hand twitches, like he was going to reach out, but instead he takes a deep breath. “Yeah,” he replies, evenly. “Yeah, I heard that too. Congratulations on that too.”

Try as Louis might, he can’t see any pity in Zayn’s gaze, or resignation, and he hates that too. “Fuck you. Fuck you and your fucking degree and fancy job and—”

“Are you mad at me or yourself?” Zayn demands, and there it is. There’s the fight, and Louis’s ready for it. “I’m not apologizing for doing well!”

“I’m not asking you too! I’m not asking you to apologize at all.” Louis stabs a finger in his direction. This feels like old times too, snarling at Zayn. The difference is, this time it won’t end with them sliding into seats next to each other in chorus, pretending to ignore each other until they forget to. Louis will probably never see Zayn again, and that’ll be too soon. “You fucked off as soon as you could, and that was always going to happen. You just don’t get to come back and pretend that we’re old friends!”

“I was getting some air! You were the one who came up to me! Needed an excuse to talk to me, babe?”

It hits Louis in the gut, like a solid punch. Zayn always knew where to hurt him most. Good to know that’s still true.

“Fuck you.”

“You said that already.”

“Well—”

The door swings open. It’s the chorus teacher—an ancient old woman who’d probably taught their parents, but is still sharp as a whip. “Louis? Once more into the breach, we’re starting again. Oh!” She claps her hands, when she sees Zayn. “Oh, this is a flash from the past! I feel like I should be giving you two detention, just for old time’s sake.”

“Nah, you always loved us too much for that,” Zayn jokes. The anger seems like it’s all gone. The Zayn Louis had known would have been surly, unable to hide his residual anger for hours. “Hi, Mrs. K.”

“I did,” she admits shamelessly. “I’ve always had a soft spot for my mischief makers, especially those with voices like yours. How are you doing, Zayn? I hear you’re at grad school?”

“Yeah, I…” Louis ducks inside before he can hear more. He doesn’t want to hear the list of Zayn’s accomplishments. Of course Zayn’s done amazingly for himself. Louis never doubted he would. And Louis’s happy. He’d never wish Freddie away, not for anything, and he’s happy living near home, teaching drama. He’s happy. And Zayn and his not texting and his stupid big eyes and pretty face and sharp tongue can go fuck himself.

The next act is easier, probably because a lot of the kids who’d gone in the first act have either gone home or are in the audience now. It’s easy enough that Louis actually gets to listen to some of the acts. It’s the usual mishmash, some kids with decent voices, some who try. There’s one girl who Louis’s been thinking about talking to Niall about, seeing if he has connections at music schools, because he hasn’t heard a voice like hers for years, and she knows how to fill a stage.

He doesn’t look for Zayn. He doesn’t even think about Zayn. But he can’t help the nostalgia, the memories—which is all Zayn’s fault, too. How they’d stand here before one of these talent shows, all five of them. Liam would be mouthing the words to his part over and over again, utterly focused; Niall’s probably still be chatting with the other performers; Harry would be very focused on not throwing up. And Zayn would probably have an arm thrown over Louis’s shoulders as they watched, his body warm and comfortable next to Louis’s. For the first two years, Louis was watching, probably making fun of whoever was going in Zayn’s ear to make Zayn giggle and add commentary, then, after the earthshattering realization of just what that feeling when he was near Zayn meant, he’d have been too busy willing himself not to get a boner to get nervous.

God, he’d loved those talent shows. The five of them had been good, too, he’s sure of it. Not as good as they thought they were, definitely, but good. They’d been ready to take on the world then. Five best friends. Louis’s brothers in all but blood. And Zayn, who’d been more.

Louis shakes his head, as the last act, the jazz band, finishes up. The past is the past. He needs to be here.

He gets all the kids home, then sends Mrs. K home too. Brianna has Freddie tonight, he can clean up. The maintenance guys will do most of it anyway, he just gathers up the streamers they decorated the stage with, does a sweep of backstage to check for any leftover belongings.

Then, because he’s on stage, though the house lights are off and only a few lights are on stage, because it’s been in his head all night, he looks out towards the back of the auditorium, and sings a few bars of Teenaged Dirtbag.

The sound of clapping fills the room when he fades out, and Louis whirls to see Zayn in the wings.

“I thought everyone had gone,” Louis announces.

“You sound good.” Zayn steps forward, onto the stage, and, like Louis had, looks out and sings a few bars, his voice soaring up then riffing down, still as gorgeous as it’s ever been.

“Fuck you.”

Zayn smirks, but there’s something shy in it, the bit of pleased he always got when someone complimented him on something he wasn’t sure about. When Louis did most of all.

“This stage, bro. We had some good times here, didn’t we?” Zayn paces to downstage, like he’s exploring the old boards.

“Don’t you have to go home with your family?”

“I drove on my own.” Zayn sits down on the edge of the stage, his legs hanging off it. “Remember when Harry slid the full length of it because he tripped over his own feet?”

Louis’s lips quirk, unwilling. “Remember when he almost walked into fire?”

“I almost had a heart attack for him.” Zayn flops back, so he’s lying on the wood. “I think everyone’s fallen on this stage except for me.”

“It’s not too late.”

“Yeah?” Even upside down, Louis knows that slow, lazy smile, the intimate one that always got his heart beating too fast when Zayn had given it to him. “How you gonna make me fall over when I’m lying down?”

“I’ll find a way. I’m motivated. Don’t you want to see your sister more? You don’t get to see her often, I’d bet.”

“I’m here all weekend. Come here.”

“What?”

“Come here.” Zayn pats the wood next to him.

“No.” Louis is not coming close to him. He can’t.

“Lou.” Zayn sits up, twisting so he can look at Louis. He looks so small, dwarfed by the seats behind him, but Louis knows better. Zayn always was too big for this place. Too big for Louis. “Come here.”

And apparently, eight years of silence hasn’t changed the fact that Louis is still so easy for Zayn. It’s like a magnet, how no matter how he drags his feet he ends up sitting on the stage next to Zayn, their feet bouncing against each other. If Louis reached out, he could touch Zayn. Could let Zayn pull him close like he always had before.

Instead, he clenches his hands on the edge of the stage, and keeps his distance, and thinks about what he has to do tomorrow, not the man next to him.

“I should have told you.” The acoustics carry it out, up and away, but Louis still has to stare at Zayn. He’s looking out, like he’s chasing the sound, but Louis can see the muscle work in his jaw. “When I left. I should have told you.”

“No kidding.”

“But you could’ve—I texted after. You didn’t reply. That wasn’t my fault.”

“I was pissed.”

“So you got me pissed?” Zayn snorts. “Since when did that ever work?”

“Since when do I do anything else?” Louis retorts, and this time Zayn’s laugh sounds real. Louis hasn’t heard Zayn’s laughter in years. He hadn’t known how much he missed it. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Zayn lets out a long breath. His profile’s ridiculously carved, almost silhouetted with how the lights are falling on him. The stage had always loved him.

“I was a stupid teenager, Lou.”

Louis knows Zayn’s evasions when he hears them. “Why? Give me that much closure, at least. Did I mean that little?”

“What?” Zayn sounds honestly surprised, his eyebrows drawing together. “Bloody hell, Louis, of course not. You were—I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t know how.”

“Louis, there’s this program I’m going to, over the summer, because I’m a nerd despite all your best efforts to convince me otherwise. Come visit! How’s that?” Louis suggests. It hides the way the confirmation makes him want to glow. He’d known that, that it wasn’t about him not being important to Zayn. But hearing Zayn say it helps.

“You’d just have been mad at me via text.”

“I wouldn’t—” Zayn gives him a look, and Louis shrugs. “Okay, yeah, I would’ve been. But I’d have gotten over it.”

“It wasn’t just that. I’d been looking forward to the summer too.” Zayn’s fingers drum over his thigh. “I dunno. Telling you…it was going to be the hardest, so I put it off, and then it was too late.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Probably. Stupid teenager, remember?” Zayn shrugs. “Remember when Liam pantsed Harry here?”

“I remember you staring at Harry’s ass here.”

“It was a nice ass!” Zayn laughs. “And he had boxers on.”

“Thank god. We’d have gotten in a lot more trouble if he hadn’t.”

Another laugh, then silence. It shouldn’t be easy to be quiet with Zayn—Louis’s not generally good at quiet, doesn’t like it, doesn’t like how it gets him caught in his head. His mum had always said that Zayn was the only person who could get him to sit quietly for more than thirty seconds. That shouldn’t still be true, not after eight years—but it is. There’s just the quiet of the auditorium, and Zayn. Zayn, who he should be angry at, because he’s yet to hear a proper analogy or a not stupid excuse, but he’s just—this how their arguments had always ended. Next to each other, because Louis could never stay angry at Zayn when he was close.

“I almost kissed you here.”

“What?”

Zayn’s not looking at Louis, but he doesn’t have that stubborn set to his jaw. Instead, his gaze is contemplative. Like he doesn’t know what he did to Louis, with those words.

“Cabaret, our last year. Remember? I was just so stupidly excited and hyped, and I almost kissed you.”

“You did kiss me.” Louis can still feel the ghost of Zayn’s lips on his cheek sometimes.

“You know what I mean.” Zayn’s lips twist.

“Yeah.” Louis tries his hardest not to look at Zayn, either. “Why didn’t you?”

“Chickened out. Too many people around. Didn’t know what you’d do. Didn’t know if it would have fucked us up.”

Louis takes a deep breath. But he knows, without Zayn having to say it, why he said that, tonight, why he brought it all up. He knows how Zayn works still. Knows that he needed to say it, wanted to put it on the table, and who knew when they’d have another chance. Knows that that’s how Louis works too.

“I almost kissed you a hundred times.” Louis stares out at the empty seats. He’s kept this secret for ten years. Two years of loving Zayn, eight of hating him. And now it’s out. Now Zayn almost kissed him. “I was going to do it, when I got back from vacation. If I fucked everything up we’d be leaving soon, anyway, and, I mean. I knew it wouldn’t last, knew you’d go to university and find someone better, but I wanted to have you for a summer.” Louis pushes at his hair on his forehead, an old habit he thought he’d broken. Like Zayn. “Then you left.”

“Lou.” Louis turns, because he can’t help it, because there is not a universe he can imagine where he isn’t easy for Zayn. Zayn’s facing him, and then his hand is on Louis’s cheek, and he’s leaning forward and before Louis can process it, their lips are pressed together.

It’s not what Louis had imagined, at seventeen. Not the fevered desperation of some dreams, or the melodrama of others. It’s light, chaste. Tender. Almost casual. Almost like home.

“There,” Zayn says, his fingers running over the back of Louis’s neck. He’s smiling, the one he used to hide his bashfulness. “For the ones we didn’t get.”

Louis lets out a long breath. “Yeah.” He doesn’t know how long he’d been waiting for that kiss. Ten years, maybe, but maybe more. Maybe he’s been waiting a lifetime for Zayn Malik, and now it’s happened, and he doesn’t know what comes next. “I need to go.”

He drops his hands to hop off the stage—and then Zayn’s hand is on his wrist, and he looking at Louis, hopeful, shy. “I, um. I’m actually going to be back for a couple months soon, while I figure shit out. I could, like, we could try that summer?”

Louis feels stupid, struck dumb. He’d never imagined this could happen. That he’d get another chance, after all the ones he’d missed. That the fates would conspire to drop Zayn back into his lap, the timing all right. He didn’t think the universe liked him that much. He’ll take whatever comes that pays for this, he thinks. He’ll take it, to get his summer with Zayn. “Um, yeah. Cool. That’d be cool.”

“Cool,” Zayn teases, and Louis make a face back. It’s easy. He’s changed, but he’s still Zayn, like Louis’s still Louis, and they’re still them. Years and anger can’t change that.

Can’t change how Zayn reaches out, pulls them together; can’t change how they fit, tucked against each other on the edge of the stage, looking into the darkness of the house.

“It doesn’t have to just be a summer,” Zayn says, suddenly. “I don’t subscribe to your bullshit self-doubt. Just so you know.”

“Yeah?” Louis grins at Zayn, who’s grinning back, his tongue pressed against his teeth, and he’d smiled like that when they were eighteen and owned this stage, when they were ten and declared themselves best friends forever. Here’s another memory for this stage. Another step. “We’ll see.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Want to discuss? Comment or come chat on [ tumblr!](http://zaynandhisboys.tumblr.com/)


End file.
